An Alchemist
by LunaStellaCat
Summary: Gideon Prewett walked into the history books without a plan. *I wrote a draft of this years ago. Any reviews or insight would be awesome and appreciated. Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.
1. Silver Cigarette Lighter

Gideon Prewett clutched his broken left hand as he ran down the street. When was he going to stop making these foolish mistakes? He'd been with the Order of the Phoenix for years, practically since its inception, yet things always circled back to this. At least, he thought as he hobbled back home clutching his useless shattered stump, he hadn't been Splinched. He wasn't that fond of Apparition, for he preferred to travel by broom. It was safer, and frankly, he felt he had more control. As he touched the deep wound he'd received on his shoulder, Gideon felt faint.

He'd felt his skin tear on that one. He'd told himself that his shoulder had simply popped out of place. That had happened too, yet that was beside the point, and the injury certainly didn't block out or numb the rest of the excruciating pain. He knopounded on his brother's front door.

He called out in French. Nobody came. Gideon considered his words carefully, played the plea back through his mind, and he switched to English. "Fabian, open the door!"

Gideon worked for the Department of International Magical Cooperation. He jumped back and forth between France and England so often these days, the man no longer owned property on home soil. He'd sold his comfortable home outside of London a few years ago because this place felt more like a holiday place than a home. He'd hadn't planned on being back, really, but he hadn't planned on a lot of things. As he stood on his brother's doorstep reflecting on his sorry life, Gideon decided he needed to pick a place to call home. England or France? England or France? His ulcers had nothing to do with these late nighttime strolls.

Fabian, drowsy from sleep, opened the door. He'd thankfully dropped the security measures for whatever reason. When he saw his brother, Fabian cursed and supported Gideon, who had started shaky uncontrollably, into the sitting room. They were both stocky men with thick auburn hair and hazel eyes; they were each other's doppelgänger, which came in rather handy these days whilst on assignment for the Order of the Phoenix.

"What happened?" Fabian deposited his brother on the couch and fumbled around the sitting room for a light. He found his wand and pointed it at the grate; flames appeared in the fireplace.

"I don't know. I think I'm his favorite punching bag ... Macnair went after me again. Can you believe that?" Gideon fought the urge to lie down. He turned at an odd angle, offering his brother his arm. He reached inside his robes and slammed a silver lighter on the coffee table. Gritting his teeth, breathing through pain, he said, "Pop it back in."

"Were you Splinched? I need better light." Fabian found nothing and perched himself on the edge of the coffee table. He gripped Gideon's injured arm, wrapped the shoulder wound after cleaning it, although he did a quick job in this dimly lit setting, and prepared to set it. "Are we good?"

Gideon nodded, his eyes already watering as he expected the fresh wave. Fabian set the arm without warning, and Gideon shot choice words at him, switching between English to French with ease. Fabian reset his hand as well without skipping a beat, apparently saving his apology for when this was over. Gideon laid down and buried his face in the couch cushion, hoping he'd pass out. He got no such luck. When Fabian finished, he'd reeled off whatever he'd fixed like it was better to hear it all in a rush. The apology hardly seemed worth it.

Gideon translated his last explicative into plain English. "I hate you, wanker."

"He also said he hated your mother, which means no sense whatsoever," said Emmeline, walking downstairs and holding a taper aloft. Her dark hair fell down her back in a single plait. She wore a dressing gown, though there was no hiding her figure anymore these days. She rested her hand on her belly and placed the other on the bannister. She spoke to her husband in rapid French.

Fabian cleared his mess with a lazy flick of his wand. "We speak English in this household, people."

"I'm fine," said Gideon, smiling weakly at his brother. Emmeline passed through the sitting room and entered the kitchen. She busied herself there, but she gave her own thoughts in her native tongue in passing. Emmeline usually got the last word. Gideon smirked at his brother as he got comfortable on the couch. "You don't want that translation, brother."

"Oh, yeah? Well, well, at least my grandfather isn't psychotic," said Fabian, recycling his old standby.

Emmeline returned into the sitting room and set a wooden tray on the coffee table. She lifted her husband's head and placed it in her lap before she gave him a good, long kiss.

"You two act like newlyweds," commented Fabian, helping himself to Gideon's coffee. He gestured around the place as he got to his feet. "These walls are thin. I heard Madame Saint-Luc here screaming for hours last night before you stepped out."

"Sorry," Emmeline and Gideon apologized. Gideon actually wasn't that sorry because he hadn't been intimate with his wife in months. He didn't know what had changed her mind, but he certainly enjoyed the hormones.

"At least someone's getting some." Fabian rubbed his hands together before he reached out to touch Emmeline. She closed her eyes, tired, and shifted his hand. She was an only child, yet she considered Fabian as a brother when she and Gideon had tied the knot ten years ago in Calais. Fabian smiled. "So, this is why you're not sleeping. You think this one is going to stick?"

"I hope so." Emmeline didn't sound certain. She'd abandoned hope ages ago.

Emmeline didn't let just anyone touch her. They had tried and failed to have a child for years. Her grandfather, a man who lived in the past, called it an heir. Nicolas Flamel asked for a great-grandson. Emmeline, who had jumped back and forth across the English Channel, had dropped her French accent. It came back when she changed tongues; she sounded like another person. She'd also adopted the sometimes surname Vance. She relaxed, chuckling a little when Fabian started speaking in a babyish tone to her belly.

Gideon squeezed her hand. "Go to bed."

"No." Emmeline shook her head as Fabian headed upstairs. It was slowly getting light outside and he had the day off. Emmeline rested her chin in her head, sounding like she fought sleep. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

Gideon rolled onto his good side and faced the couch cushions.

"No?" Emmeline accepted the answer for the moment because both of them were too tired. She sat there for a while and played with the silver lighter. Shadows danced on the walls, and she kept the fire going. The candlelight went out. "Are you sleeping?"

Gideon considered lying because he was nearly there. She worked as a negotiator for the Paris and Marseille divisions; they held the same careers and sat in different seats. When things boiled right down to it, Gideon acted like a double agent between the two countries; he played the role of the peacemaker for a handful of European countries. He understood a little this and that and liked playing the game. Interpreters gravitated towards him, although he didn't quite get the attraction.

"I think I have a problem," he confessed, reaching out to take Professor Dumbledore's lighter and place it on the coffee table again. Emmeline got up and stood by the open window. Her dressing gown had slipped open, revealing a silk nightgown underneath. She opened the trinket and an orb of light zoomed inside it. Gideon, amazed, raised his head. "How did you do that?"

"Oh, this?" Emmeline opened the trinket again and released the light. She tossed it in the air and caught it. "He's not a smoker. He crafted one for my grandmother."

Emmeline's grandmother, Jacqueline Saint-Luc, was hands down the most interesting old woman Gideon had ever had the pleasure of meeting. She was a plain Frenchwoman from the countryside, and she appeared to be nothing at first glance. Jacqueline got handpicked by Albus Dumbledore at sixteen to become Nicolas Flamel's apprentice; Dumbledore asked to chose his replacement before he'd left Paris. He'd moved on to greater things. Jacqueline had fair, olive skin and wore her hair in a single braid. She neared eighty now, though you definitely couldn't tell by her appearance. Jacqueline shared a longtime friendship with Dumbledore.

"He gave her one of these when she finally stopped smoking." Emmeline examined the thing by the firelight after she heaved a couple logs into the grate.

"Because that makes perfect sense," said Gideon, completely confused. Professor Dumbledore was a mystery to him.

"Hers actually lights up. Jacqueline thinks it's funny." Emmeline called her grandmother by her first name. It was an age thing, Gideon suspected. Her grandfather, Papa, Philippe, held the post of Transfiguration teacher at Beauxbatons Academy. Emmeline smiled at him, perhaps thinking he'd enjoy the story, but her face fell when he said nothing. "What is it?"

Gideon sat up gingerly and fingered his side, checking Fabian's handy work. Repaired ribs made it easier to breathe. He bought his hands together, laying his thoughts on the table. He wanted to discuss Nicolas Flamel. Why would he care about about Jacqueline's great grandchildren? True, they had passed the mark, so the child was viable or whatever, but why would an renowned alchemist take sudden interest? Gideon had never met the man. In truth, this moment could wait forever as far as he was concerned, for he'd heard Flamel was cynical and cold-hearted.

Gideon shook his head, telling himself a complicated conversation would get them nowhere. "I got beat up the night we returned home, and I'm trying to convince myself not to go back to Paris. We haven't even unpacked."

Gideon nodded at their bags by the staircase. Enmeline, frowning at him and setting the lighter down, sat down beside him and covered herself with a knit blanket. Molly had made it. Gideon had an orange and blue one laying on the back of his couch in the Parisian flat. Although they had moved back, he had refused to sell the flat. It was in a good location for one thing, and whatever Emmeline said to the contrary, they were going back.

"I hate it here." Gideon despised the war that had lasted for nearly ten years. It had somehow not crossed the Channel, though if things continued down this path, that would hardly matter. He missed smoking. He'd kicked the habit last year and still found the nicotine pull excruciating.

"Relax." Even though he tried to pull away, Emmeline snatched his hand and placed it on her side. The kid got wedged in a tight spot. "This calms you down. Don't act like I don't know you, Gideon. We discussed this to death when you received that owl from Fabian last month. You can either stay here or there, but you can't have it both ways. I can't. Remember what it took to get reassigned here?"

"I know," he said, dejected. Gideon slumped his shoulders. He took the bottle Emmeline conjured and downed its synthetic cherry-favored contents in one. He repeated what they agreed on back to her. "We stay put for six months, or least until the baby arrives, and we go from there. I picked here."

"Deal with it. You're going through this stuff like water. I'm going to have an English child, but you don't hear me complaining." She laughed with him, making light of the situation and pulling playfully at his robes. "Take me back."

Gideon really thought she should not toy with him because he just might take her up on the offer. Paris had its negatives, too. He'd found a rat in his kitchen basin once and nearly lost his mind whilst he jumped around screaming like a little girl. The sewer system sometimes worked in reverse, especially on days when the rain refused to quit. Oh, and there was the homeless drunkard, Gideon's personal favorite strange memory, who had propositioned his wife and followed her home in the middle of the night. Emmeline had cast a Tongue-Tying Curse on him and steered Gideon home before things took a nasty turn. Folks who worked in international affairs had ample reason not to be slapped with assault charges.

"Did you ever tell your grandparents you got an offer on the street?" Gideon had almost forgotten this incident and fingered the emerald pendant laying on her breast. "Like some common whore."

"An expensive whore," she corrected him. Emmeline undid her braid with quick fingers and shook her head, placing the elastic band on her wrist. "God, no. Papa would panic. Gideon?"

"Hmmm? Who did you get this from?" He played with the jewel.

"Flamel," she said, sighing when he groaned and dropped his hand. Emmeline got up and placed her hands on her hips. "We're not having this row right now, monsieur. I'm going to bed."

Gideon raised his eyebrows. He'd been kidding about the common whore thing, but this made things too easy. "He gives you gifts?"

"I am Jacqueline's and Philipe's granddaughter. How many times do I have to tell you? This is nothing. You don't like it? Fine." Emmeline, instantly angry, tore off the necklace and handed it over. She broke its clasp. " You'll fetch a pretty penny for it, Gideon. Sell it for all I care. Good night."

Gideon shook with laughter. It wasn't that things had taken a wrong turn; it unfolded as they discussed a gift she'd received from a six hundred and fifty year old man. Give or take a decade, Nicolas Flamel was ancient. Gideon remembered taking Alchemy in his sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts. If Professor Dumbledore was a great headmaster, it was nothing compared to when he actually taught in the classroom. He'd told the history of alchemy like a never-ending story. This was the first time Gideon had heard of the famous Jacqueline Saint-Luc.

Emmeline headed upstairs and slammed the bedroom door. Although he'd already resigned himself to spending the night on the couch, Gideon got the message. He laid back, closed his eyes, and eventually drifted off to sleep.

Gideon fought with his wife all the time. They were negotiators, people who were primed to fight for their own self interests. Well, they fought for the interests of their respected countries, but it was pretty much the same thing. If they didn't argue about something stupid at least once a week, he saw this as cause to worry because something was wrong. Gideon stepped off the lift two days later, and spotted Emmeline, her hair in a high ponytail this afternoon, weaving through the crowd. He almost called after her. Perhaps they'd go out to a nice, quiet dinner and laugh about Nicolas Flamel before the Order meeting. Emmeline settled on silent treatment.

"She's still not talking to you, eh?" Fabian, who waited until the end of the meeting to rub salt in his wound. "You make marriage seem like such fun!"

"You ... never mind." Gideon stopped himself from commenting on his brother's carefree lifestyle, but he shut up, for it was a low blow. Fabian hadn't done a damn thing to him. None of this was his fault, although Gideon could place his finger on this problem, and, he, Fabian, had graciously offered them houseroom. That invitation could go on indefinitely.

The members left in groups of two and three. After Professor Dumbledore whispered in Emmeline's ear, she walked off with him over to the side for a private word. Gideon, interested, pretended he had forgotten something at the table. The professor took a slender jewelry box from his robes and shook the silver pendant before he hooked the clasp on Emmeline's neck. She smiled, listening to him talk. Whether he was giving her instructions or not, Gideon didn't know, yet there was no mistaking the heartfelt laugh. They spoke in French, so Gideon doubted anyone else caught their words.

"Nicolas likes to have the last word." Professor Dumbledore handed her a thick envelope and the empty jewelry box. He went back to English, for he noticed a few strangling Order members watching them.

Emmeline opened the letter with trembling hands. She wore a simple black and white dress and unconsciously fingered the golden pendant. Her long black skirt brushed the ground. She read the letter aloud, suddenly nervous. "' _To Jacqueline's quiet granddaughter, I don't remember your name, though I'm sure you have one. Your grandmother is fond of those_.'"

Emmeline, shocked and affronted, stopped reading the letter.

"This is Nicolas on a good day. It gets better," said Dumbledore, stepping behind her and reading over her shoulder. He cleared his throat, laughed at something in the letter, and continued, "' _I'm curious to see whether you possess Jacqueline's rare talents. Some fool insisted I take her under my care some years ago, and it appears I owe him an apology. Jacqueline claims you're a gift. She was mine. I shall carry you home. Come find me, petite fille._ '''

Professor Dumbledore folded the letter along its creases and placed it back inside its envelope. He tapped the envelope, slightly surprised, pointing out Emmeline's name on the outside. It was written in another hand. "That's Perenelle. He really doesn't know your name. That's not a problem?"

Emmeline shook her head, laughing nervously when his face broke into a smile. She pecked him on the cheek when he embraced her. "Thank you."

"Thank Nicolas. You were a good student. You made me think." Dumbledore handed her the letter, the disguised invitation. He rubbed his hands together, saying he'd forgotten his gloves, and it was quite a chilly evening. He placed his cold hands on Emmeline's bare shoulders, and she slipped the invitation into her bag. "There were times when I swore Jacqueline put you up to it."

Emmeline apologized automatically and gave him his silver lighter. Professor Dumbledore dismissed her words with a wave of his hand and thanked her for returning what he called his Deluminator. They said goodbye after Professor Dumbledore handed her another roll of parchment. Emmeline walked over to Gideon and offered him an apology for last night. He took it and touched her pendant, an infinity symbol.

"You're an alchemist. You're in the inner circle." He'd questioned Jacqueline about her identical golden pendant years ago. "How does it feel?"

"I … I can barely breathe. I'm no Jacqueline." She took his hand.

Fabian cleared his throat. "Except you are."

Fabian, who had helped himself to the roll of parchment read through the thing carefully. It wasn't the original document, so he made no fuss when it trailed on the ground. They started down the street towards the Apparition point, Fabian in the lead, and they nearly walked into him when he walked into a lamppost. Professor Dumbledore walked closely behind them. Fabian straightened, temporarily struck dumb. Gideon followed his long finger on the document. Fabian held a family tree.

"Oh, you're his descendant." Gideon spoke conversationally, despite the lump forming in his throat. He felt a little lightheaded. That's why Nicolas Flamel had asked them for a male heir.

"That's ridiculous," said Emmeline, not even looking at the document. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot, waiting for Professor Dumbledore to put weight behind her statement. Emmeline, like her husband, paid attention in History of Magic and she lived by the facts locked inside reference books. She rested her hand on her stomach, lost in her thoughts for a moment. "Nicolas didn't have any children. I mean, he may have had bastards, but they don't count. Perenelle gave him no children."

"Ah, but you are forgetting his wife. Where did she get her fortune? She married. Perenelle had seven children," said Professor Dumbledore. He walked ahead of them, returning Emmeline's smile as she slowly pieced this together.

Gideon got it. Nicolas Flamel was a devout Roman Catholic, a man married to his principles and his faith. Undoubtedly, probably with the help of her money, he allowed Perenelle to work beside him because he'd marked her as an equal. Women had their place in the home, and he would not have simply allowed some foolish sixteen year old girl, a nobody, to learn his craft. Jacqueline had to prove herself as a learned master in the craft; Albus Dumbledore had sought her out to prove old-fashioned Nicolas wrong.

"Nicolas moves with the world, yet he is only a man. It takes him time, too." Professor Dumbledore studied Emmeline for some time, pausing when she wiped something out of her eye. "You remind me of Jacqueline. It's remarkable."

Emmeline didn't know what to say to this. In fact, Gideon noticed as an awkward silence passed, she'd seemed to loose her ability to speak altogether. She was a fierce negotiator, so this was no easy feat. There were days Gideon prayed his wife would simply shut up. She has two ears and one mouth for a reason, as his Aunt Muriel would have said. He thanked Professor Dumbledore and said good night. The professor disappeared. Fabian mentioned in an offhand way Gideon and Emmeline were screwed. Gideon tried not to imagine his name on that family tree. He reached inside his robes, took out the emerald with its mended chain, and placed it in Emmeline's hand. Slowly coming out of her daze, steadying herself on her feet, Emmeline closed her long fingers around the jewel.


	2. The Receipt Book

The scene played out in Gideon's mind before it happened. In July, it was uncomfortably warm in the conference room. If the Ministry of Magic wasn't underground, the windows would have been open. He sat on the fourth row, five seats away from Monsieur Ariel Bernard. The summer session, held from early June to late August, passed in a string of pleas, presentations, and compromises. Sometimes, and this was more often the case than not, things got stalled on the floor and things wrapped up in a stagnant season. Nothing happened.

Emmeline took the floor at three o'clock. She'd wore a plain mint colored dress and heels for the occasion. Someone, a scribe, had offered her a chair at the start of the proceeding, yet she'd declined it. Gideon, who had heard her practice this speech back to front, considered this a strong plea. He wasn't saying this because he was her husband; Emmeline understood this intricate game better than he did. She'd been playing by the rules. When she'd finished, she waited patiently for the rebuttal, the questioning session afterwards.

Albus Dumbledore, Gideon noticed, chose to say nothing. As Supreme Mugwump of the International of the International Confederation of Wizards, he had every right to go after her as the presiding officer. He got the right as head interrogator on the floor. It didn't occur to Gideon that Professor Dumbledore might be placed in an awkward position here, though the silence became more pronounced as the minutes passed. The professor, it seemed, had backed himself into a corner. He knew her family intimately, for one thing. Nobody knew it, of course, but was she was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, Emmeline promoted his interests. She'd accepted a position as a French liaison on his request.

Professor Dumbledore shuffled his papers and called down to Ariel Bernard. The professor sounded almost bored and uninterested. "Monsieur Bernard?"

"What do we get?" Speaking with a strong accent, Bernard skipped any preamble and got to the point. "Zis is not our problem."

"With all due respect, monsieur, this is everyone's problem," said Emmeline, placing her hands behind her back. They had had this conversation behind closed doors countless times. She reached out for her water and dropped her hand when he cleared his throat.

Some of the officers on the bench exchanged looks. Technically, Emmeline Saint-Luc belonged on Bernard's team. She was his strongest asset, really, despite the fact that he liked to pretend he controlled everything. Bernard had the French government eating out of the palm of his hand for thirty some years, and he wasn't going down without a fight. When she'd applied for an application as a liaison, for France and Britain's relationship was already a strained one, he'd thrown a cup of coffee at her.

Bernard sneered at her, switching back to his native tongue. " _Fidélité._ "

"Loyalty? You ... you speak of loyalty?" Emmeline cleared the air, countering him with a translation. She'd sometimes worked as an interpreter during gatherings. This afternoon, the assigned interpreter got a free ride. Gideon swore he spotted the young man almost nodding off. Emmeline placed a hand on her lower back, walking again. She laughed humorlessly, shaking her head. How many ways could she say the same thing? Going back towards the table, she slipped and caught herself. "Are we not on the same team, Ariel?"

Bernard called her a name that required no translation and threw up a rude hand gesture. Furious, he got off the bench and left out the side door as she called after him, practically begging him to listen to reason.

"Ariel! Ariel!" Her plea fell to deaf ears. Emmeline turned on her heel, preparing to address another officer as she composed herself. When the witch to Dumbledore's right asked a question, Emmeline felt her forehead and asked the witch to repeat herself. The questioner did.

Gideon imagined it a split second before panic filled the room. Gideon wasn't sure why Emmeline simply stood there. She hit the stone floor.

Many of the people in the room gasped. Gideon got up, following Dumbledore, who had gotten to his feet and hurried down the stairs. As this was the last thing on the agenda, today's session had ended early. Witches and wizards got to their feet, curious and surprised. Although nothing had been officially adjourned, session halted for the day.

"Emmeline? Emmeline?" Dumbledore reached her first and held her close, speaking in hurried French.

If Dumbledore was worried, he disguised it and sounded as calm as ever. He brushed his fingers on the floor and showed Gideon his hand. There was blood there.

"Call for an ambulance!" Gideon yelled.

Within minutes, emergency medical personnel in lime green robes had assessed Emmeline's possible injuries, decided against spinal immobilization, and placed her on a patient trolley. Gideon jogged alongside the trolley to the Ministry emergency exit and climbed into the yellow and lime green ambulance after the EMPs. They zoomed through Muggle traffic and reached St. Mungo's in seconds.

Gideon jumped out and rushed through the Emergency Entrance. "My wife needs a Healer!"

Behind him, Emmeline said weakly, "Gideon, you're shouting." A glance over his shoulder showed she was smiling with her eyes closed.

Gideon almost laughed, relieved. In the ambulance Emmeline, pale as a ghost, had never spoken, only squeezed his hand a little too hard.

After the Healer examined Emmeline, she gestured for Gideon to accompany her outside the partition of curtains and quietly asked, "How many miscarriages has your wife had?" Shehe raised an eyebrow when he told her they'd had six over ten years.

"Have you considered alternatives?"

Gideon gave a curt nod. He'd heard all of this in Paris and Marseille, and again in Paris. There were other options for them to have a family. He knew this, too. The adoption and surrogacy spiel got a bit wearing after hearing it three or four times. The Healer, recognizing defeat with what usually passed for good enough, eventually pulled back the curtains around Emmeline's bed and beckoned to Gideon with her finger.

"All right. The bleeding's stopped, and you're in the clear. For now." The Healer tapped the clipboard when Emmeline nodded at the ceiling. "The reason you had the fainting spell? Your body is telling you to slow down. Are you under a lot of stress?"

Emmeline gave a dry laugh and sat up in the bed. She'd changed into a hospital gown and her things lay in a nearby chair. Ariel Bernard breathed down her neck and threw absolutely anything and everything at her. He was the figure head, the one who took all the credit whilst she made the magic happen. There was the whole thing about her carrying Nicolas Flamel's heir and the pressure with learning new skills. And then there was the Order. Gideon discussed this stuff to death with her night after night. They couldn't say anything about the last two.

"I have a fifty million Galleon contract on the table." Emmeline went with work.

"I understand that. Here's where I point out what you already knew." The Healer handed her a goblet of Blood Replenishing Potion. Emmeline had drank two glasses of water. A tall empty glass lay on the end table. "You are severely dehydrated."

Gideon passed a hand over his face. He did not sit down. "Emmeline."

"You don't understand. I have a fifty million Galleon contract on the line, and I'm juggling so many projects." Emmeline turned to the Healer and handed her the goblet. "You realize we're at war? The world doesn't stop simply because some woman has a baby. You get that? You don't say no to Ariel Bernard."

"Fuck Ariel Bernard. Merlin!" Gideon waved down the Healer because she started to say something. He held up a hand to shut Emmeline up. "No. The only reason that man has any shred of respect in the magical community is because of you. He's Le Guillotine, remember? You know what he told me once?"

"Gideon," said Emmeline, closing her eyes again.

"Ariel said he'd set the world on fire, and he'd watch you burn. He doesn't give a damn about you, or his wife, or his children. You can't change him, Emmeline, amour, I know you want to. I won't let him drag you down. You want to lose a child over him? Drink this." He took the Blood Replenishing Potion from the Healer, forced it into Emmeline's hands, and glared at her until she drank it. Gideon spoke to the Healer and crossed his arms. "What does she need?"

"No stress. She leaves work today. Bedrest," said the Healer, looking impressed and ignoring Emmeline's groan. "If she ends up here again, I'll keep her here permanently. Keep her off her feet."

"Done." Gideon followed the Healer off to the side and signed off on the instructions on the clipboard.

"So you're that Mr. Prewett. The one who fought for health parcels for Muggle refugees?" She positively beamed when he nodded, still reading through the paperwork. She took the clipboard back and shook his hand. "You're pretty awesome. Tell your kid that story."

Gideon watched her go, rather pleased with himself. He did a lot of work behind the scenes. The Department of International Magical Cooperation was an exhausting place, and its effects rarely got noticed outside the walls of the Ministry of Magic. As he handed over Emmeline's clothes and things, he shared the news about the Cordoba Compromise. That thing had been his baby for five years in Paris.

When they had arrived home late that afternoon, Gideon set to work reorganizing the bedroom. Fabian helped him. He listened to the news of the Cordoba Compromise, although his responses got reduced to grunts and eye rolls. Things were all right for about a week. By the third week, she'd almost fallen downstairs twice when they weren't home. Emmeline wasn't particularly accident prone, unless she tried to get ahead of herself.

She wasn't confined to a bed or anything because she insisted on doing light chores around the house. During a family gathering at the Burrow, she'd picked up Percy, and both Fabian and Gideon told her off together. By the time August finally rolled around, she started getting angry with the pair of them, especially when she caught something from one of the Weasley kids.

Gideon and Fabian made last minute preparations for an Order mission in the sitting room. As Gideon double checked a list, Fabian tossed a sheathed knife in his rucksack when he spotted her coming downstairs swaddled in a nightgown and dressing gown. "What're you doing?"

"I'm pregnant. I'm not an invalid." She sounded like she had a bad head cold. Emmeline spent a lot of her time reading books and things she'd borrowed from her grandmother. None of it was light reading. Fabian walked over, abandoning his bag, and gave her a hand. He touched the back of his other hand to her forehead. "What is it now? I will not be a prisoner in this house."

"You're not a prisoner, you're a guest. Stop being so melodramatic." Fabian, always the kinder of the two, made her so-called "captivity" easier on both Gideon and Emmeline because he acted as the middle man. "Would it help if I told you you're my favorite sister-in-law? Keep that in mind when you're naming this kid."

Emmeline glared at him. "You're touching me."

"She's burning up. What say you, brother?" Fabian wiped his hands on his trousers. He laughed heartily when she said she wanted to go with them and get out of the house. "Yeah. Right. That's just what we need, Emmeline. You dropping that calf on the pavement somewhere."

Emmeline frowned at him, not looking the least bit frightening in her flowery night things. "I'm not Molly."

Gideon recited a line Emmeline hated. "Molly probably isn't this much trouble with Arthur."

He was forever painfully aware that he and Emmeline could have been the Weasley family, and always got rather jealous of his sister. He could have lived in a fine house in the French countryside with six kids ... four girls and two boys ... and another on the way. They all had names in his head. Emmeline would have quit her job, of course, and she might have never of crossed paths with Ariel Bernard. Would they have cared about this damned war? Probably not. On rough days, Gideon locked himself inside his happy bubble. They'd be done at seven.

"You're doing it again." Emmeline snapped her fingers and yanked him back into reality. Gideon smiled at her sheepishly. She patted the messy knot on top of her head, self-conscious. She'd gone back to the no touching rule in bed. She took out her handkerchief and blew her nose, "You have that dreamy look. How can you possibly think I'm attractive? Look at me."

"I am," he said, still smiling. "Go to bed, amour, and I'll bring you something home."

"Like birth control," suggested Fabian lightly as he tied his rucksack. Emmeline hacked with laughter and went upstairs. She closed the door. Fabian headed outside whistling a tune as he headed downstairs. Gideon, right behind him, dressed in the same clothes, locked the door. They didn't plan on matching; it happened that way sometimes. "When you do get your own place, she and the kid can stay. I like her."

"Only because she laughs at your jokes," said Gideon, climbing over a small fence. He got to his feet, picking his rucksack off the ground. "You're not even funny."

"Monsieur Negotiator is too serious. I am hilarious, thank you very much. The women? They love me. The difference between us? Except for that marriage thing, you know. I can learn to be funny. You're stuck with an ugly face." Fabian landed at an odd angle on the ground. He cursed, feeling his ankle, and took Gideon's hand. His face relaxed when he heard Gideon's laughter.

Gideon took the blue lighter out of his pocket and flicked its flame on and off. He could really use a smoke to calm his nerves. Although they'd been working towards this for the better part of a decade, he'd be a father in a few weeks. When they Apparated at the appropriate spot, he put his hands in his trouser pockets. He tucked the lighter away.

"So, what're we calling this kid?" Fabian punched him in the shoulder. Skilled as he was at wearing a blank mask, Gideon could never hide anything from his brother. "You're thinking about it."

"Pippa Jacqueline."

"After the grandparents? I like it." Fabian tried and failed to mirror his brother's flawless French. The first part wasn't French, and Gideon thought Fabian liked the ring of the name. "And the surname?"

"Gets strange when you have three to choose from, doesn't it? I dunno." Gideon really didn't want a son because then he had to think of Nicolas Flamel, and he preferred to hate the bastard at the moment. Of course, Flamel probably could and would settle for a little girl. After all, he'd adopted Jacqueline into his family. When Jacqueline's son Alexis died in a fire, he had turned his sights towards Emmeline.

After pocketing his wedding band and handing his brother one of his blue lighters, Gideon pointed north and tapped him on the shoulder. Fabian followed his finger. A black man stood between two Death Eaters, Yaxley and Dolohov. They appeared to be arguing with the other man, taunting him. Gideon crafted a plan on the spot, putting their other task on the back burner, and hoping his brother was on the same page. They Apparated with a loud crack.

The three men, distracted, surveyed the area. They appeared again and tapped both Yaxley and Dolohov on their shoulders.

"Good evening," said the brothers together.

"Prewett and Prewett," said Doholov, pointing his wand at Fabian.

"Which one is which?" Yaxley stepped back when Gideon and Fabian circled them, their hands raised, and traded places.

"One just got back into the country. He stole a lighter off Macnair." Doholov glanced over his shoulder at Fabian. "He's been causing trouble in France. Is that you?"

"No, sir, I don't speak French," said Fabian, taking a parcel of cigarettes out of his pocket and lightening up. He offered one to each of them, shaking the box. The terrified man in the middle took one. Fabian pocketed the others. Fabian flicked his cigarette, getting rid of the ashes, and held it between his teeth. "Who're you?"

"You know me, you preppy Frenchman," hissed Yaxley, taking him by the robes. "Where is the lighter?"

"Not you. By the way, I don't like you." Fabian pointed at the scared man. "Him."

"Yes, I know you." Gideon hated himself for doing this, but he did it anyway. He took out a cigarette with shaky fingers, placed it between his teeth, and tried to ignore his wife's nagging voice in his head. He lit up, closed his eyes, and took a long drag. Fabian had smoked outside as a courtesy these days. Gideon had lasted nearly four hundred days without these things. He pulled again, loving it and hating himself in the same moment. He tossed the cheap, blue lighter in the air and caught it. "This thing?"

"No." Yaxley fingered his wand. "You know which lighter I want, Prewett, don't play games. How's your wife?"

Fabian opened his mouth and took this question without thinking. After all, neither he nor his brother wore a wedding band. Gideon checked his left hand, for it felt funny without the ring there. He was lucky it was dark because his skin tone might have given him away. Fabian cleared his throat, stamped out the filter, and lit a second cigarette. Gideon did, too, though this had nothing to do with keeping up with Fabian.

"I ... I left her. We're not doing that great," said Fabian, inventing something on the spot.

The fool! Gideon could have kicked him. He dropped his fresh cigarette and stamped it out.

"Funnily enough, there's record of your wife at St. Mungo's, and you signed the discharge papers," said Dolohov, staring him down. He jerked his head towards Gideon, who clutched his wand. Dolohov nodded at Gideon, finding his target. "That's you. Tell me, sir, or monsieur, rather, is she resting?"

Gideon gaped at him, breathing sharply. Fabian, quick on the uptake, Stunned Doholov from behind. The man, taken by surprise, fell at Gideon's feet. This all seemed too easy. They had come out here to meet Dolohov to negotiate an exchange of information before moving on to their other tasks. They'd been lured out here under false pretenses. They were not the target.

"What's your name?" Fabian shook the black man as Gideon tripped a fleeing Yaxley. Cords shot out of the end of Gideon's wand and tied themselves around Yaxley's arms and legs. Fabian shook him again, more forcibly. "Your name?"

"Jake Thomas," the man said, frightened.

"What the hell are you doing with these people? Go!" Fabian pushed the man. Mr. Thomas disappeared down the street. He turned to Gideon. "What's going on?"

Gideon kicked Yaxley hard in the stomach. "They weren't after us! They agreed to meet us so she would be alone. What do you want with Emmeline?"

Yaxley looked at him, smiling through his pain when Gideon kicked him again. "You are a stupid fool. Why would anyone seek out an alchemist?"

Gideon stopped hurting Yaxley when Fabian grabbed him and held him back. He played what he understood about Alchemy through his mind. A practitioner could craft metal into gold and create a draught called the Elixir of Life. They didn't have the Philosopher's Stone because it belonged to Nicolas Flamel. He was cooped up somewhere in Dover. But they had texts, and manuscripts and receipts.

"Oh, my God. Oh, my God." Gideon ran his hands through his hair. "He wants it. I saw it this morning on the bedside table. She fell asleep reading it!"

"What the hell?" Fabian loosened his hold on him.

"The receipt book. Nicolas hand copied it and gave it to Jacqueline to study. It's the receipt for Elixir."

Fabian still didn't quite understand him. Gideon read the confusion on his feet, but he didn't have time. He pulled Fabian to his feet and Apparated with him a short distance away. When they appeared by the fence again both Gideon and Fabian hurled over it and ran as fast as they could towards the flat building.

They flew up three flights of stairs and found the door forced open. A thick man lay at the foot of the stairs in the flat. Another lay unconscious in the doorway. Gideon and Fabian stepped over the body, their wands held aloft.

"Emmeline. Thank God!" Gideon rushed over to Emmeline. Panting, she crawled on the floor on her hands and knees and pointed her wand at the fireplace. Flames erupted in the grate.

"Something's wrong. I can feel it." Emmeline shook her head when Fabian said it was nothing. Gideon dropped beside her, worried and excited at the same time. She shook her head again. "They broke through the door, and I heard them coming upstairs, and I panicked. They took the book."

"Emmeline, forget the book," he said, reaching out for it.

When she slapped his hand away, Gideon pulled her to her feet. Whenever he'd ran this through his mind, Gideon had imagined himself running around like some madman with his head cut off, yet he was dead calm. Molly had been his practice. He asked his brother to grab the bag in the wardrobe. Fabian, delayed, got the point and ran to fetch it upstairs. Gideon asked her to sit with him on the couch.

"I am telling you something is wrong," Emmeline said, shaking.

"You got the book back." He pointed out the obvious.

"Not the book, you idiot! Damn it." Holding up her hand, Emmeline closed her eyes.

She had a private conversation with herself, speaking in French so fast, Gideon himself had trouble catching some on the words. He knew what was happening, of course, because he'd been through this with Molly countless times. Every time Molly had another boy, he rushed him to be with her. He had a list of unspoken duties as the eldest Prewett brother. Most of these responsibilities, Gideon knew, he put on himself.

"This is normal," he told Emmeline, reaching out to grab her hand. She yanked it away. "I think you're ready. Pippa's coming, dear. This happens all the time."

"I will hit you," Emmeline warned him when Gideon tried to touch her again. He was going to help her get to her feet. She relaxed when the pain passed. She sounded unsure, frightened, although she did offer him her hand. "It doesn't feel right."

"Okay, okay." He didn't believe her, but Gideon told her what she wanted to hear. It was finally happening. A little earlier than they'd expected, sure, but none of this was an exact science. They were having a baby. "You want to sit down?"

Emmeline cocked her head to the side, confused. "How are you this calm? Are you on something? I expected you to freak out."

He shrugged, placing a hand on her back. Before Emmeline went to go sit down, she decided to bury the secret and cast the receipt book into the fire.


End file.
